


High Stakes Bets

by claimedbydaryl



Series: seventy year love story [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, honestly run while you can, i included a left boob grab for your reading pleasure, its so cute and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4845041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/pseuds/claimedbydaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Nat's throwing a housewarming party for Sam and Clint makes a bet with her that he can catch Steve and Bucky kissing in a dark corner by the time the nights through (their relationship is still secret atm but everyone has their suspicions) and it's just a mess of Steve and Bucky dodging the Avengers who all try their hardest to catch them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Stakes Bets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pietromavximoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pietromavximoff/gifts).



“Is this how you imagined spending your first housewarming party in New York?” Nat asked coolly, tipping the rim of her long-necked beer to her scarlet lips.

Sam laughed on exhale, throwing her a sidewards glance, his dark eyes lively. “I never imagined I’d spend it like this.” He motioned to the odd host of people scattered throughout his living room.

From their position—seated on a rickety pair of second-hand deckchairs on Sam’s decently-sized balcony, feet casually kicked up on a wine cooler—Sam and Nat had a prime view of the party attendees within his living room.

“We have a Scandinavian god, his physicist girlfriend whose probably ten times more than likely smarter than me, a genderless being of immense power,”—Sam pointed to Thor, Jane Foster and Vision in turn—“Tony Stark and his long-suffering guardians,”—the aforementioned billionaire and a jubilant Happy were conducting a frighteningly complicated-looking experiment as an unfazed Pepper and Rhodey looked on—“a teddy-bear-slash-rage-monster, Hawkguy’s protégée and a woman with the power of telekinesis,”—a sweeping gesture towards an uncomfortable Bruce sandwiched between Kate and Wanda—“and I think Scott may have just reached for Captain America’s left boob. Again.”

“Forget Lang, you failed to mention the devastatingly handsome archer,” Clint chimed in, hanging from his perch above. His legs were expertly—well, at least Sam hoped it was expertly—hooked over Sam’s neighbour’s balcony.

“And his complete lack of balance.” Nat commented.

“What lack of balance? I am an acrobat of insurmountable skill—” Ironically, Clint suddenly lost his bird-like purchase, his foothold slipping as he started to fall—plummeting down in the direct path of where Sam and Nat were seated below.

Sam jolted, the chair legs screeching as he fell backwards in an effort to escape certain death by a flightless bird. He hit the floor and waited for the resounding crash—but it never came. He opened his eyes to see a lean, white-haired man standing in the place Clint should’ve fallen, holding the said devastatingly handsome archer in his arms.

Nat turned her head to raise a delicate eyebrow at Sam sprawled out on the floor, appraising him from her unmoved position in the deckchair—she hadn’t even batted an eyelash in her impending doom.

“You can put me down now,” Clint said flatly, still held firmly in Pietro’s embrace, arms crossed petulantly across his chest. Looking down at the human child in his arms, Pietro’s answering grin reached new levels of self-satisfied.

“What were you even doing up there?” Sam asked from his position on the floor, throwing all pretences of dignity to the wind—it seemed he’d already lost enough of it tonight.

“Well,” Clint started animatedly, seemingly oblivious to the fact Pietro had refrained from lowering him down just yet, “if you two ever decided to stop lording over the place, I had planned on waiting until two certain super soldiers came out here for some… _incriminating alone time_.”

“Are you still convinced they’re in a secret relationship?”

“You tell me,” Clint jabbed a thumb over his and Pietro’s collective shoulders at the said pair of men at the other end of the apartment. All four of them turned to follow the line of his hand.

Okay, to a completely objective third party, Steve and Bucky did look they spent more time in each other’s pants than in their own. Steve was nonchalantly leaning back on the couch, with Bucky was seated on the arm, his hands hanging between the V of his legs where they had swung up onto the cushions, feet tucked under one of Steve’s broad thighs.

The four of them on the balcony watched as Steve threw his head back to laugh heartily and a grinning Bucky reached forward to touch his arm, right where Steve’s smart blue dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows to reveal smooth, golden skin.

“Can you seriously look me in the eye and tell me that’s not love in its purest, base form?” Clint prompted, an eyebrow quirked defiantly—the action startling akin to Nat’s.

The redhead was unconvinced. “It’s all a matter of interpretation, Barton.”

“You’re the one who dared me to catch them together before the nights through!” Clint cried indignantly.

Sam feigned a scandalised gasp. “Really?”

Nat rolled her eyes in response.

Pietro cocked his head, mischief shining bright in his eyes. “Willing to make that a bet?”

Clint made a show of weighing his decision before saying, “You’re on.”

At that exact moment, Steve rose to his feet and Bucky quickly followed him to the kitchen, lingering on the edges of their sight. Presented with the perfect opportunity to catch them in the act, Pietro dropped Clint gently onto his feet, and they high-fived in camaraderie once before trailing after the rapidly disappearing backs of Steve and Bucky.

Sam clambered back into his deck chair, fishing another beer from the cooler before settling back in his seat. “Let the games begin,” he said quietly, absently clinking the neck of his bottle with Nat’s.

*

Currently, in the kitchen, Bucky was nosing at Steve’s cheek, feeling his boyfriend’s broad smile against his skin. “Come on,” the brunet urged, an underlying wickedness to his words, “we can just excuse ourselves to go the bathroom within five minutes of each other and be back in ten.”

“Ten, hey?” Steve teased.

“Or, y’know, five,” Bucky dropped his voice to a conspiring whisper, slotting his thigh between Steve’s and dragging it upwards in a decidedly torturous movement—relying on the offered friction to achieve the desired effect. Steve swallowed a strangled moan in response, the side of his head resting heavily against Bucky’s. “It’s really up to you, Rogers.”

Steve, however, seemed to have a more advanced grasp of rationality. “Buck, if you keep this up someone will find us out pretty soon and then we’ll have no time to ourselves whilst dodging a never-ending slew of jokes about our ninety year love story.”

“But what if I want to bear the never-ending slew of jokes about our ninety year love story just so I could actually kiss you in public?” Although his words were a jest, his expression was not. Bucky’s voice was soft, intimate, pressing a reverent kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

Steve instinctively followed the line of Bucky’s mouth in response, catching his familiar lips in a firm, open-mouthed kiss—trying to convey just how much he loved Bucky, how much he admired and cherished and respected the man beneath the attention of his hands, lips and tongue.

They were alerted to the sound of a body thudding dully into a nearby wall, followed by a muffled curse and an acerbic voice telling the former to _shut up, kid, you’ll blow our cover_. Bucky looked from the origin of the noise back to Steve with an amused quirk of the lips—a thread of disappointment evident in his expression—before swiftly kissing him once and stepping back. Steve offered him a weak smile, holding onto their interlaced fingers for as long as he possibly could until Bucky had put a respectable distance between, and Clint and Pietro rounded the corner.

“So, what were you saying about the Dodgers, Buck?” Steve said casually, tipping his glass under the faucet to collect a stream of water.

Bucky was sitting on the kitchen countertop, an open bag of chips arranged between his legs and a container of onion-and-chives flavoured dip in his hand. “That it’s goddamned travesty that they moved—Oh, you boys want some?” He held out the chips to them.

Clint narrowed his eyes before feigning a grateful smile. “Thanks, Barnes,” he said, “but me and Pietro were looking for some extra beers Nat promised as a prize for winning a bet.”

“Looks like we lost, though,” Pietro said, critically analysing the deliberate amount of space between Steve and Bucky. Under his scrutiny Steve leaned back against the sink, subtly wiping at his mouth—his lips still felt kiss-hot and wet, and he could still smell the musk of Bucky’s cologne on his skin. In contrast, Bucky remained unyielding, matching the intensity of Pietro’s glare with a blindingly wide—albeit mocking—grin.

“Don’t be so quick to claim defeat, Speedy.” Clint clapped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder good-naturedly, his voice a little too bright. “The night is young, and we have work to do.”

Clint proceeded to grab a six-pack of beer from the fridge before retreating from the room at a leisurely pace, throwing a dismissive wave Steve and Bucky’s way.

“Good luck with the bet,” Bucky called out after they had rounded the corner.

“You have no idea!” Clint’s disembodied voice replied.

Bucky turned back to Steve with a wry grin, lifting his shoulders in question at Clint and Pietro’s strange antics. Steve smiled crookedly at him over the rim of his glass.

“I gotta use the bathroom. See you in a few, Stevie,” Bucky said a little too loudly, a little obviously—enough so that Steve smothered a bark of laughter. He jumped off the counter and approached Steve, reaching around the larger man to place his dip container on the sink in very close proximity. Steve leaned closer instinctively, but Bucky fluidly moved backwards when only a hairs breadth had separated them, motioning to the bathroom—providing Steve with the optimum chance to continue their little escapade in private.

Steve watched him leave with an affectionate smile, chuckling quietly as he heard Clint and Pietro reluctantly move from their position hidden around the kitchen corner once they realised whatever what they were so desperately trying to prove, they wouldn’t find it here.

*

“They’re onto us,” Clint said, vaulting over the back of the couch to land heavily on the waiting cushions below. “But did you hear them being all moony-eyed for each other? _Oh, Stevie, let’s go have a quickie in the bathroom with no regards to personal hygiene.”_ Clint alternated from Bucky’s husky tone to Steve’s deeper, more sombre voice. _“But, Bucky Bear, we need to keep our relationship secret as not to provide Clint with ammunition for some truly stunning jokes.”_

“Well, at least we know where they’ll be for the next ten minutes.” Pietro perched on the back of the couch next to Clint. He paused for a moment before adding slyly, “And we know what they’ll be doing.”

“Who’s doing what?” Wanda asked, appearing at Pietro’s side—she never seemed to stray too far from him. Her brother slung an arm around her neck, pulling her in for a quick hug.

“Or is it more of a matter of who’s doing whom?” Kate soon joined them, slotting into her place beside Clint with an easeful grace. She propped her booted feet up on the coffee table, her slouched position and purple flannel shirt almost a mirror image of Clint’s.

Clint glanced at her approvingly. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

“So, what’s the plan, boys?”

*

Steve waited for an appropriate amount of time—his foot tapping rhythmically on the floor—before he set his glass down on the sink and made a beeline for the bathroom. He cast a cursory glance around the hallway before reaching for the brass knob.

“Hey, Steve,” a light, feminine voice said coolly, causing Steve to wrench his hand back from the doorknob as if it had burned him.

Steve quickly ran a hand through his hair to give it a purpose rather than hanging awkwardly in the air. “Um, hi, Kate.” He stuttered, attempting to convey a veneer of calm collectiveness—which he partially succeeded in achieving.

“What’re ya doing?” She said, leaning against the wall with a knowing smile curling her lips.

 _Get it together, Rogers_. “I’m—just going to the bathroom.”

“I thought I just saw Bucky head in there.” Another accented voice pointed out—Steve near jumped out of his skin as Wanda appeared out of thin air, coming to stand by Kate. She placed her hands on her hips defiantly, both of them assessing his every move.

 _Think fast. Diffuse the situation_. _Divert attention._ “Oh, well, I thought it was the other bathroom. The one Bucky wasn’t in.” It was a half-believable attempt at best.

Kate tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear, repressing the urge to laugh outright. “Sam bought a one-bathroom apartment. And the one you’re trying to use is currently occupied by a certain metal-armed brunet. So, tell me again, what’re ya doing?”

 _Abort mission, target comprised_. A deep shade of red bloomed across Steve’s features as his brain promptly short-circuited. “Uh…” His throat ran dry; his entire being was devoid of all logical thought as he desperately sought for plausible excuses.

Of course, Bucky had chosen this moment to yank the door open. “What are you doing standing out there? Get in here,” Bucky said, reaching out to drag Steve by the collar of his shirt through the open bathroom door.

“Bucky, wait—” Steve’s weak protests fell on deaf ears as Bucky roughly closed the space between them, bodies pressed flush together. He imperceptibly dipped his head forward before Bucky spotted Kate and Wanda watching the scene unfold, effectively freezing him in place.

They couldn’t claim their predicament as anything less than what it so obviously was—a helpless Steve had already been pulled more than halfway across the threshold; Bucky was fisting his collar, their belt buckles so close Kate and Wanda could hear the faint clinking of metal-on-metal. Steve and Bucky had identical rabbit-caught-in-the-headlight expressions, framed together in the doorway of the bathroom before two particularly satisfied, incredibly frightening women.

Clint had chosen this moment to glide around the corner and make his grand entrance. “Well look here, it seems you two—”

Tony’s voice— _from inside the bathroom_ —interrupted the big speech Clint’d been planning for the past few minutes in his head. “Oh, you found Steve. Good. We could use an extra hand.”

Clint, Kate and Wanda were rendered speechless as Bucky released Steve to push the door open in a wide arc, his smile anything but triumphant. And there, was Tony. He was sitting on the tiled floor; legs sprawled out in front of him as he concentrated on repairing the plumbing under the sink basin, a toolbox by his side.

Bucky subtly elbowed Steve in the side, making a soft coughing noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” the blond began lamely, “I came to help Tony fix the…”

“Draining problem,” Bucky supplied helpfully, “the pipes keep getting clogged and whatnot.”

“Okay…” Clint looked defeated. Wanda was confused. Kate was stunned—and a little impressed.

“You guys need anything?” Bucky prompted, smirking.

“No,” Clint shot back, knowing they’d lost this battle—but the war was far from over. “I just came to grab Kate and Wanda, so I’m gonna go now, bye.” He returned to the living room to shake his head sadly at the waiting Pietro with the girls in tow.

“What happened?” Steve asked Bucky in whisper once the trio were out of sight, motioning to an oblivious Tony behind them in the bathroom.

Bucky shrugged, taking the opportunity to sway closer to Steve whilst Tony remained a silent background figure—a difficult feat considering it was _Tony_. “A series of convenient events that led to me being grateful that we had an obsessive compulsive tinkerer in close proximity.”

*

“Dude,” Clint groused when Tony walked into the living room a mere twenty minutes later. “We almost had them.”

“Had who?” Tony replied absently, sitting on the arm of the chair Pepper primly seated at. She chastised his grease-streaked appearance before wetting her thumb and running it over the dark smudge on Tony’s forehead. He made no move to knock her ministrations aside; instead he leaned into the welcome touch with a fleeting smile.

“Steve and Bucky.” Pietro replied smoothly, propped up against the wall with his feet crossed at the ankles.

Realisation dawned in Tony’s dark eyes. “So you were trying to catch them in the act. Nice plan, just terrible planning. You could’ve warned me at least.”

“We did,” Kate said. “About thirty seconds before you disappeared to grab Pepper a bottle of champagne that’s probably worth more the Sam’s whole apartment, and promptly ruined our chances of revealing the worst kept secret of this century.”

Tony’s expression lacked all traces of guilt, but his tone was uncharacteristically sober. “I got distracted.” He was met by a chorus of pained groans throughout the room, and he offered Pepper a sheepish lift of his shoulders under her first reproachful—if still fond—glare of the night.

“Where are they now?” Clint asked after a beats silence.

Tony’s grin was practically impish. “In the bedroom, getting Sam his housewarming gift.”

“Maximoff twins, you’re up.”

*

“Alone at last,” Bucky breathed, closing the door behind them, successfully separating him and Steve from the outside world.

“We basically live together, Buck.” Steve sat on the edge of the bed, subtly shifting to dodge the large moving mass of presents beside him. “We’re always alone together.”

“Yeah, but,” Bucky was quick to object, “I’ve spent the last the last four hours trying to restrain myself from touching you as we would when we were alone.” He collapsed beside Steve on the mattress in a dramatic huff, lying on his back with his hands resting across his stomach.

“Well, we’re alone now,” Steve said innocently, stretching out beside Bucky.

“Oh really?”

“Really.” He reached out to place a broad hand beside Bucky’s head, bracing his weight over the leaner man, their chests pressed flush together.

Bucky surged forward, meeting Steve’s lips in a melding of hot, wet flesh. Steve melted into the feel of Bucky’s lips, succumbing to the lazy actions of his tongue, opening his mouth on his behest. Bucky’s hands settled on his biceps, clutching the fabric tight, threatening to rip it open. Steve redistributed his weight across the bed, slotting his and Bucky’s hips together, eliciting a rough moan from the other man.

Whatever undercurrent of coy playfulness that characterised their kiss was soon replaced with a more insistent need to touch and taste and feel everything within immediate reach.

Bucky’s grip alternated to Steve’s head, where he pulled at the roots of his blond hair to urge him on. Steve growled in response, biting softly at Bucky’s lower lip, dragging his teeth across the plump flesh. Their kiss soon deepened, the languid quality of their actions steadily dissipating, purpose driving their movements.

Forgoing holding his weight above him, Steve allowed his body to rest heavily against Bucky as he ran his hand down his chest, fingers slipping underneath the hem of his shirt. Bucky reacted on instinct, his hips rocking against Steve’s, hands running over his shoulders and down to the small of his back, teasing the waistband of his pants.

Lust unfurled in the bottom of Steve’s stomach, a fire which burnt bright and fierce. He ground his pelvis into Bucky’s, the action abrupt and deliberate in pace. Bucky gasped against his lips, near whimpering as Steve continued to chase the sparks of arousal at their direct point of fused contact.

“Did you lock the door?” Steve panted against Bucky’s lips, drunk on the taste of him, the feel of his skin beneath his palm.

“What?” he mumbled distractedly, raising a leg over Steve’s, drawing the centre of his weight closer to his core to finally provide some relieving friction.

“Did you lock the door?” Steve repeated, his fingers reaching up to cup Bucky’s jaw in his hand, pressing their foreheads together as their hips rocked to a steady, vision-blurring peak.

Abandoning all pretences of coherent thought, Bucky had arched into Steve, their mouths sliding together hotly. Steve was so close to the edge of not caring about the door, or the people behind it, or the whole façade they had worked so hard to construct.

But it turned out old habits die hard.

A pair of voices passed close to the door, and Steve and Bucky shared one wide-eyed glance before rushing to move apart. Steve frantically smoothed his dishevelled hair, straightening his collar as Bucky’s fingers quickly tightened Steve’s belt. And then Bucky’s was tugging his shirt down over the hard ridges of his exposed hipbones, and Steve was pulling his hair out of its ponytail to artfully conceal the red, lip-shaped marks on his neck.

They were still panting, itching to have their hands on each other’s skin, hair, flesh. Their want was a deep and physical need, coursing through their veins, ready to consume them whole. But Steve and Bucky had agreed to prolong their honeymoon period for the longest time possible—and that meant maintaining their guise as simple friends in public.

And when the doorknob turned, alerting the two to an impending interruption, Bucky and Steve were safely on opposite sides of the room—just. Wanda and Pietro stepped inside the room, their smiles faltering only marginally at the sight of Steve and Bucky’s seemingly normal appearance.

“We just came to find our housewarming gifts for Sam,” Wanda said faultlessly, approaching the complied mass of gifts.

“So were we,” Bucky said, his voice only a little rough, a little too husky. He pointedly avoided Steve’s gaze, already straining not to show just how loud his pulse thudded in his ears, or how his fingers quivered. Bucky made a show of rummaging through the presents with Wanda, and Steve stepped aside to start a causal conversation with Pietro.

“Here’s yours,” Wanda offered Bucky the small, pleasantly wrapped box.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, coughing weakly to mask the sound of his strained voice. In another sign of weakness—succumbing to that invisible line that connected him and Steve—he caught the other man’s eyes for a second on his exit, and saw his own mingled disappointment and rapidly fading desire reflected there.

Steve turned back to Pietro once Bucky had crossed the threshold into the hallway, startling at how intensely the white-haired kid was staring at his mouth. “Your lips are red… and swollen.” He said, cocking his head to the side curiously.

In his peripheral vision, Steve saw Wanda glance fleetingly in their direction at her brother’s blunt statement. He rubbed a hand over his heated lips, wishing he couldn’t remember the taste of Bucky so vividly, or that his fingers were still tingling with the sensation of bare skin on skin.

“Yeah,” Steve deflected the observation easily enough, “it’s a side-effect of the serum. Random things like dilated pupils and elevated heartrate and swelling.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, embarrassed beyond measure. A rush of relief flooded Steve once Wanda proclaimed to have found her gift and she motioned Pietro to follow her out of the room, calling out a goodbye to Steve.

As soon as they weren’t in his direct line of sight Steve banged his head against the wall.

*

The party proceeded without a hitch. Sam opened all his presents with varying levels of good-natured mirth. The appropriate toasts were made, beers were shared, and a spirited game of Heads Up nearly led to the destruction of all Sam’s worldly possessions.

Steve and Bucky were a little more conscientious of how close they sat or stood together after the initial rush of arousal had thankfully dissipated. Clint glared at them for the remainder of the night, which was weird, since every time they looked around they saw a pair of narrowed eyes boring holes into their skulls. Intermittent slaps to his head—courtesy of Nat—seemed to dissuade Clint, but not by much. Only when Pietro distracted him with a competitive—if highly dangerous—game of darts were Steve and Bucky allowed to breathe easy.

The night rolled in, the thick layer of smoke and pollution clouding the stars above. Words were slurred and vision was blurred following the warm buzz of alcohol. It was warm and affectionate and perfect—just the right start to Sam’s life in New York.

Sam had again retreated to the chilled air of the balcony with Nat, sharing a blanket between them. Jane was also cocooned in Thor’s embrace in a high-backed chair he’d pulled outside at her request, and Bruce was leaning against the railing close-by, content to watch the chaos unfold around him with a fond smile.

Only when Sam was slowly drifting to sleep, lulled by the comforting sound of laughter around him, did he hear Clint exclaim, “Wait, where have Steve and Bucky gone?”

He opened his eyes to see the archer standing in the middle of the room, scanning the sea of faces for his favourite pair of geriatric lovers, only to come up empty. Clint opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn’t his voice which flooded the apartment next.

“If you wanted me to sniff them out, why didn’t you just ask?” Tony asked loudly, seemingly sober save for how he stumbled getting to his feet. He ignored Clint’s pleas to stay seated and not completely ruin his chances for winning the bet. “I’ll succeed where so many of you have failed! Unto victory!”

Pepper watched him blunder down the hallway with a roll of her eyes, returning to her chess match with Happy—wait, where the hell did she get a chessboard? Sam had only packed a rundown Monopoly and set of Uno cards to keep his nieces and nephews occupied if they ever visited—

Tony’s shrill scream cut through the noise of the apartment.

Sam was on his feet in a second, quickly pinpointing the origin of the noise and running towards it. He and several others found Tony in his guest bedroom, standing stock-still in the middle of the room, a hand pressed to his dismayed face.

“What is it, Tony?” Rhodey asked concernedly, stepping closer to reach for his childhood friend. “What’s wrong—Oh _my god_!” He stumbled backwards, shielding his eyes from the horrors that awaited him in the closet.

A deep, familiar, embarrassed voice echoed from inside the closet. “Shit, sorry, Rhodey.” An unseen Steve rambled. “I didn’t mean for you to see that. Or Tony. Ever—”

“Hold up!” Clint exclaimed, bursting through the throng of people to see inside the closet.

And there, between the hanging coats, jackets and scarves—were Steve and Bucky. Steve was frantically trying to button his pants and tighten his belt, his shirt practically ripped open. Bucky was in worse shape—his hair a mess, pants unceremoniously shoved halfway down his thighs, his shirt doing the only thing to offer some shred of dignity.

“Jesus, Barton, give a man a little privacy when he’s caught with his pants down.” Bucky huffed.

Steve’s blush deepened as he pulled the ruins of his shirt across his naked chest to cover the already-purpling bruises. Bucky flashed him a reassuring smile before tugging his pants up his legs, more amused by the situation than mortified—unlike the exceedingly modest Steve.

“Does that mean I win?” Clint asked excitedly, turning to catch Nat’s gaze in the slowly disappearing crowd.

“Yes, but I’m sure you’re not the only one who’s going to win tonight.”

When Steve and Bucky finally returned to the living area in semi-decent state of dress, they were greeted to a vigorous round of applause. Even a still-shaken Tony managed to put his hands together, although Clint and Pietro were the loudest amongst them all. The pair of them were sitting close together, Pietro leaning against Clint’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Steve dropped his head into Bucky’s shoulder to hide his embarrassment, and for the first time ever, Bucky was able to hold onto Steve like he wanted to—without the fear or anxiety of discovery to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind. And when Bucky reached up to kiss Steve chastely after, the golden burst of warmth in his chest was partly due to Steve’ smile against his mouth, and also due to the resounding hoots and catcalls of the friends he trusted.

Later, after the raucous laughter had subsided to a steady trickle, the fanfare having long died down, Sam laid a hand on Nat’s slim shoulder. Wiping the glimmer of tears from his eyes, he said breathlessly, “Thank you for organising this party for me, it really did help. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

The redhead smiled knowingly. “And thank you for providing me with perfect opportunity to finally reveal what they”—she cocked her head at the two super soldiers, snuggly nestled in each other’s arms on the couch—“have been doing for the past eight months. Their amateurish attempt at sneaking around was driving me insane.”

“You and me both.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://diggitydamnsebastianstan.tumblr.com/) and ready to rock-'n-roll


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